covered one of her eyes and stopped just above her lips.
Tomasa kept walking, past the whitewashed church, the narrow line of shops at the edge of town, and the city's single McDonald's. Then the buildings began to thin. Spanish-style houses flanked the road, while rice fields spread out beyond them into the distance. Mosquitoes buzzed close, drawn by her sweat.
By the time Tomasa crossed the short bridge near her school, only the light of the moon let her see where to put her feet. She stepped carefully through thick plants and hopped over a ditch. The tamarind tree was unremarkable—a wide trunk clouded by thick, feathery leaves. She set her basket down among the roots.
At least the moon was only half-full. On full-moon nights, Rosa said that witches and elves and other spirits met at a market in the graveyard where they traded things like people did during the day. Not that she thought it was true, but it was still frightening.
" Tabi-tabi po ,” she whispered to the darkness, just like Rosa had told her, warning him that she was there. “Please take these offerings and let my sister get better."
There was only silence and Tomasa felt even more foolish than before. She turned to go.
Something rustled in the branches above her.
Tomasa froze and the sound stopped. She wanted to believe it was the wind, but the night air was warm and stagnant.
She looked up into eyes the green of unripe bananas.
"Hello,” she stammered, heart thundering in her chest.
The enkanto stepped out onto one of the large limbs of the tree. His skin was the same dark cinnamon as a tamarind pod and his feet were bare. His clothes surprised her—cutoff jeans and a t-shirt with a cracked and faded logo on it. He might have been a boy from the rice fields if it wasn't for his too-bright eyes and the fact that the branch hadn't so much as dipped under his weight.
He smiled down at her and she could not help but notice that he was beautiful. “What if I don't make your sister well?” he asked.
Tomasa didn't know what to say. She had lost track of the conversation. She was still trying to decide if she was willing to believe in elves. “What?"
He jumped down from his perch and she took a quick step away from him.
The elf boy picked up the lambanog and twisted the cap free. His hair rustled like leaves. “The food—is it freely given?"
"I don't understand."
"Is it mine whether I make your sister better or not?"
She forced herself to concentrate on his question. Both answers seemed wrong. If she said that the food was payment, it wasn't a gift, was it? And if it wasn't a gift, then she wasn't really following Rosa's directions. “I suppose so,” she said finally.
"Ah, good,” the elf said and took a deep swallow of the liquor. His smile said that she'd given the wrong answer. She felt cold, despite the heat.
"You're not going to make her better,” she said.
That only made his smile widen. “Let me give you something else in return—something better.” He reached up into the foliage and snapped off a brown tamarind pod. Bringing it to his lips, he whispered a few words and then kissed it. “Whoever eats this will love you."
Tomasa's face flushed. “I don't want anyone to love me.” She didn't need an elf to tell her that she was ugly. “I want my sister not to be sick."
"Take it,” he said, putting the tamarind in her hand and closing her fingers over it. He tilted his head. “It is all you'll get from me tonight."
The elf was standing very close to her now, her hand clasped in both of his. His skin felt dry and slightly rough in a way that made her think of bark. Somehow, she had gotten tangled up in her thoughts and was no longer sure of what she ought to say.
He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His too-bright eyes reflected the moonlight like an animal's. Tomasa was filled with a sudden, nameless fear.
"I have to go,” she said, pulling her hand free.
Over the bridge and down the familiar streets, past the
Tomasa kept walking, past the whitewashed church, the narrow line of shops at the edge of town, and the city's single McDonald's. Then the buildings began to thin. Spanish-style houses flanked the road, while rice fields spread out beyond them into the distance. Mosquitoes buzzed close, drawn by her sweat.
By the time Tomasa crossed the short bridge near her school, only the light of the moon let her see where to put her feet. She stepped carefully through thick plants and hopped over a ditch. The tamarind tree was unremarkable—a wide trunk clouded by thick, feathery leaves. She set her basket down among the roots.
At least the moon was only half-full. On full-moon nights, Rosa said that witches and elves and other spirits met at a market in the graveyard where they traded things like people did during the day. Not that she thought it was true, but it was still frightening.
" Tabi-tabi po ,” she whispered to the darkness, just like Rosa had told her, warning him that she was there. “Please take these offerings and let my sister get better."
There was only silence and Tomasa felt even more foolish than before. She turned to go.
Something rustled in the branches above her.
Tomasa froze and the sound stopped. She wanted to believe it was the wind, but the night air was warm and stagnant.
She looked up into eyes the green of unripe bananas.
"Hello,” she stammered, heart thundering in her chest.
The enkanto stepped out onto one of the large limbs of the tree. His skin was the same dark cinnamon as a tamarind pod and his feet were bare. His clothes surprised her—cutoff jeans and a t-shirt with a cracked and faded logo on it. He might have been a boy from the rice fields if it wasn't for his too-bright eyes and the fact that the branch hadn't so much as dipped under his weight.
He smiled down at her and she could not help but notice that he was beautiful. “What if I don't make your sister well?” he asked.
Tomasa didn't know what to say. She had lost track of the conversation. She was still trying to decide if she was willing to believe in elves. “What?"
He jumped down from his perch and she took a quick step away from him.
The elf boy picked up the lambanog and twisted the cap free. His hair rustled like leaves. “The food—is it freely given?"
"I don't understand."
"Is it mine whether I make your sister better or not?"
She forced herself to concentrate on his question. Both answers seemed wrong. If she said that the food was payment, it wasn't a gift, was it? And if it wasn't a gift, then she wasn't really following Rosa's directions. “I suppose so,” she said finally.
"Ah, good,” the elf said and took a deep swallow of the liquor. His smile said that she'd given the wrong answer. She felt cold, despite the heat.
"You're not going to make her better,” she said.
That only made his smile widen. “Let me give you something else in return—something better.” He reached up into the foliage and snapped off a brown tamarind pod. Bringing it to his lips, he whispered a few words and then kissed it. “Whoever eats this will love you."
Tomasa's face flushed. “I don't want anyone to love me.” She didn't need an elf to tell her that she was ugly. “I want my sister not to be sick."
"Take it,” he said, putting the tamarind in her hand and closing her fingers over it. He tilted his head. “It is all you'll get from me tonight."
The elf was standing very close to her now, her hand clasped in both of his. His skin felt dry and slightly rough in a way that made her think of bark. Somehow, she had gotten tangled up in her thoughts and was no longer sure of what she ought to say.
He raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. His too-bright eyes reflected the moonlight like an animal's. Tomasa was filled with a sudden, nameless fear.
"I have to go,” she said, pulling her hand free.
Over the bridge and down the familiar streets, past the
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